


If A Tree Falls

by Carpenoctemily



Series: Second Chances [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Developing Friendships, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, One Shot, POV Multiple, Sam Winchester with Superpowers, Sam Winchester-centric, Superpowers, The Winchesters and The Law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-11-19 11:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpenoctemily/pseuds/Carpenoctemily
Summary: If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?There are a lot of characters in the Second Chances series, and there's a lot of important events that Sam misses out on. But just because he isn't there to see things doesn't mean that they don't happen.





	1. Enemy of the State

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of falling trees—scenes that take place during the Second Chances series but weren't in the main series because Sam wasn't there when they happened.
> 
> These scenes will likely not be in chronological order, but each chapter will have a marking that shows where in the timeline it falls. Once the entire Second Chances series is complete, and this book is finished, I'll reorder the chapters so that they fall in line—but don't expect that to happen for a while. ;)
> 
> EtDS - Escaping the Dark Side  
> JD - Judgement Day  
> OotS - Out of the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sam sleeps, Claire tells Daredevil just who he brought to her apartment. (EtDS 3-4)

As sunlight begins to filter through the curtained windows of Claire Temple's apartment, Claire collapses, exhausted, into one of the wooden chairs in her kitchen.

It took her several hours and no small amount of luck to stop the bleeding from a pretty severe wound in the side of the man Daredevil brought to her apartment with minimal warning. But now, finally, everything seems to be alright—Matt's friend is alive, and it looks like he's going to stay that way, which means that Claire can finally relax.

"Is he alright?" Matt asks from behind Claire, and she turns to see him leaning against the bar, his cowl off and resting on top of the granite next to his right elbow. Matt is looking in Claire's general direction, but his attention seems to be focused more on the man sleeping in the next room over, stretched across a couch that is far too short for a man of his stature.

"He will be," Claire says. "It may take a while for him to be totally healed up, but he should be back on his feet relatively quickly." She hears a quiet moan and stands, walking over to the couch with Matt on her heels. Her patient has shifted in his sleep and in the process, he pulled on the fresh stitches in his stomach. Claire winces sympathetically and turns away—there's not really much she can do in that situation, as most people tend to correct their position on their own. "So, who exactly is he?" Claire asks, and Matt hesitates, then offers Claire a smile that she's begun to refer to as a puppy dog smile.

It's one Matt only uses when he's probably about to get in trouble, so Claire braces herself for bad news.

"I don't actually know," Matt admits, running a gloved hand through his hair and making his black locks stand on end. "Found him cowering in an alley a couple of nights ago, and when I came back last night, he was in the same alley, wearing a mask and fighting a rapist."

"You don't know who he is?" Claire asks in disbelief, shaking her head and turning back to her patient with new eyes. Rather than looking at his injuries, for the first time, Claire focuses on the man's face, trying to figure out who he might be. To her surprise, the answer comes relatively easily. "Actually, I might know who he is," Claire says, pulling out her phone and looking up a name. When the first image to appear on the screen matches the man on the couch almost exactly, Claire shakes her head, taking a few steps back and away from the couch.

"What is it?" Matt asks worriedly, likely hearing Claire's distress in her heart rate.

"Matt, we just saved Sam Winchester," Claire says, her voice barely a whisper as she walks into the kitchen. Upon hearing Claire's words, Matt is quick to follow, standing in the doorway between the two rooms as Claire begins to pace. "What do we do?" Claire asks. "Do we go to the police?"

"Why?" Matt asks. "That man lying on that couch is not the kind of person I'd suspect of bombing a city."

"You've met the man  _twice_ , Matt." Claire points out. "He's wanted for first-degree murder and terrorism."

"He was severely injured and terrified out of his mind," Matt says. "And despite that, he stopped an attempted rape. And nearly died in the process."

"Bad people can do good things," Claire says hesitantly.

"And good people can do bad things, too," Matt replies, steadfast in his judgement. "You didn't see what I saw, Claire. Didn't see the change from one night to the next, from terrified to powerful." Matt hesitates for a moment. "You didn't see him throw a man into a wall hard enough to shatter concrete."

"He's got superpowers?" Claire asks, and Matt nods.

"I don't know the extent of them, and if the jump in his heart rate after he threw that man is any indication, neither does Sam," Matt says. "Whatever abilities he has, he doesn't know how to use them. If we send him to prison, someone could get hurt."

"What are you suggesting we do instead?" Claire asks.

"Make sure he's alright, and maybe offer him a place to stay," Matt says. "And once he's healed up, I'll offer to train him. Help him get those abilities of his under control. By then, I'm sure we'll know what kind of person he is."

"Or we'll both be dead," Claire replies, and Matt grins.

"Maybe." He concedes. "But I've encountered psychopaths before. Killers. Soulless people who don't care who lives or dies. The kind of people would bomb a city. And I don't think Sam Winchester is one of them."

"We'll listen to his side of the story." Claire decides. "We'll let  _him_ decide our next course of action. Either you train him, or I call 911."

"Sounds good," Matt says. Claire nods, casting another glance at the criminal—at  _Public Enemy Number One_ —lying unconscious on her couch.

"I'm going to go get some groceries." Claire decides, shaking her head—she can't spend any more time than necessary in this room, not knowing whose life she just saved. "Keep an eye on him, and if it seems like he's waking up, call me." Matt nods and Claire grabs her keys and heads for the door. As she walks past the couch, however, Claire finds herself hesitating.

Sam has furrowed his brow in his sleep, and both of his hands are clenched into fists. In fact, his entire body is tensed, down to his curled toes. Claire can't help but wonder if he's having a nightmare.

The scars that litter the exposed skin of Sam's arms—and the many more that Claire saw when she wrapped his stomach—suggest that it might not be nightmares he's suffering through but memories.

As she exits her apartment and heads downstairs, Claire decides that Matt might be right—Sam Winchester doesn't really look like the kind of person who would blow up a city. But he doesn't look like the kind of person who would put on a mask and save one, either.

Then again, neither did Matt.

Claire still gave him the benefit of the doubt. She can do the same for Sam.


	2. On the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sam returns to Manhattan, Jody makes an important phone call. The next day, she receives another one. (EtDS 14-15)

After Sam disappears from the motel room—despite knowing Castiel for years, Jody will never entirely be used to that—Claire heads out, citing a need to deal with the grave that she never filled in all the confusion of discovering Sam. Jody sends Claire off with a wave, turning her attention to her phone as soon as the motel door swings closed. Sam didn't mention the rest of the hunters—much less what Jody should or shouldn't say to them—but there's one call that she knows she has to make.

"Donna? It's Jody." Jody says as soon as the phone stops ringing and the line picks up.

"Oh, Jody!" Donna says excitedly. "What can I do for ya?"

"It's about Sam," Jody says, figuring that she might as well cut to the chase. A sharp exhale floats through the receiver, and Jody pinches the bridge of her nose, immediately regretting her choice of words.

"What about?" Donna asks, her tone significantly soberer. "Is he..."

"He's alive." Jody clarifies when Donna trails off. "He's alive, but he isn't quite himself."

"What happened to him?" Donna asks, worry taking over her tone. "Is he with you?"

"I just saw him a moment ago. He's living in Manhattan." Jody frowns, unsure if 'living' is the right word to use. "He ran into Claire in Queens, they both went after the same ghost. But Donna, Sam is... he's Darkside."

"That fancy schmancy masked fella with the shiny eyes?" Donna asks.

"That's the one," Jody replies, smiling despite herself—Donna has always been able to get her laughing regardless of the circumstances. Jody sobers quickly, however, as she continues. "Sam was kidnapped after Lebanon, by the Prince of Hell Asmodeus. Tortured, I'd assume, although he didn't say so. Injected with demon blood, he did say. Enough to give him permanent abilities."

"That... doesn't sound pleasant," Donna says hesitantly, and Jody can picture Donna shaking her head as she hums.

"It gets worse," Jody says grimly. "He's missing a leg. Thinks it was torn off in the explosion in Lebanon."

"Oh, jeez," Donna says. "That must be hurting him. Is he alright?"

"You know those boys," Jody says, shaking her head. "Even if it felt like fire to walk you know he'd never show it." Jody pauses, considering—she made the call to tell Donna that Sam was alive, but she may have just thought of something else. Something important. "He's got a prosthetic,  but I'm guessing it came from Asmodeus. It's barely more than a few pieces of scrap metal and some screws. Claire said it twisted backward at the graveyard, nearly got Sam killed. He's going to need a new one."

"And you want to get it to him." Donna infers.

"Exactly," Jody replies, smiling a bit. "Can you help me out? Ask around, see if anyone knows a doctor on a hunter's payroll who can get Sam a new prosthetic under the radar. We can't risk taking him to a hospital, can't risk him getting arrested." Jody pauses, scratching absentmindedly at her hairline with her free hand. "He's not quite stable, I don't think. Still recovering from what Asmodeus did to him. Prison would probably push him over the edge."

"I'll see what I can do," Donna says firmly. "I'll keep Sam's name out of it, though. Don't want to get him in any trouble. Well, any more trouble."

"Thank you, Donna," Jody says, sinking onto her bed with a sigh. "Those boys meant the world to Bobby, you know, and they mean the world to me, too. Seeing them like this, Dean in prison and Sam so... so broken... It's killing me, Donna."

"Hey now, Sam and Dean'll get through this," Donna says. "They just need a little help is all." Jody can hear the hesitation in Donna's voice, so she waits for a minute while Donna gathers her thoughts. "Sam probably hasn't seen a friendly face since Lebanon," Donna says, and Jody shakes her head, wiping at her eyes when they threaten to betray her. "I betcha running into you and Claire has helped him already. He knows that he has you know. That can't hurt."

"He'll have us all from now on," Jody says with a smile. "You, me, and the girls. We'll be there for Sam, for both of them. Every step of the way."

* * *

Jody is halfway back to South Dakota by the time the call comes in, and she's quick to pull over when she sees the area code: Manhattan.

"Hello?" Jody asks, gesturing for Claire to swap places with her and climbing out of the car.

"Sheriff Jody Mills?" A man who is definitely not Sam asks and Jody voices a quick affirmation as she rounds the car and sits down in the passenger seat. "My name is Detective Brett Mahoney. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts yesterday evening between the hours of 7 and 11 pm." Jody swallows hard at this, frowning.

It's a leading question, and Jody can't help but jump to the worst-case scenario—someone's seen Sam, or at least they think they have, and they think that Jody saw him, too. Jody is no stranger to lying on the job—despite being a sheriff, she's become a little bit too comfortable with keeping some things out of her reports—but even so, she has to tread carefully. Anything she says could put Sam's safety at risk.

Claire sends Jody a questioning look, and Jody quickly schools her expression, waving Claire off. The last thing Claire needs is to worry about Sam.

Jody will be doing enough of that for both of them.

"I was in Queens," Jody says. "I don't think I left my hotel room at all during that time, maybe I had just gotten back from dinner?" She pauses. "I'm sorry, what exactly is this about?"

"Sheriff, did you have an encounter with the vigilante Darkside last night?" Detective Mahoney asks.

"Darkside?" Jody repeats, trying to figure out whether to confirm or deny.

"Darkside was accused of a triple murder last night, and when I found him, he claimed that he was in Queens at the time, saving a sheriff from a robbery." Detective Mahoney finally explains, and Jody nods to herself, smiling just a bit—good on Sam for coming up with a plausible excuse.

"Oh, yes, I saw Darkside," Jody says, taking care to keep her voice even. "It must have been, oh, around 10? There was this banging, on my door. When I opened the door, a man was waiting outside with a gun. I had my service weapon on the nightstand, but I couldn't reach it, so I'm lucky that Darkside arrived and helped me." Jody pauses for a moment, frowning. "I'm just glad that my daughter wasn't in the room at the time." Claire sends Jody another curious look, and Jody shrugs—hopefully, Sam didn't provide any details of the fake encounter that contradict the story Jody just told.

"Was there anyone present other than you, Darkside, and the robber?" Detective Mahoney asks.

"No, I don't think so," Jody says. "It all happened so fast, there may have been someone else who saw what happened, but I honestly couldn't say."

"Thank you, Sheriff Mills," Mahoney says. "Is there any way you could come in later today for a more formal interview?"

"Unfortunately, I left New York this morning to return home," Jody says. "I'm already almost back to South Dakota. But if you need anything else, feel free to call."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Mahoney says.

"Of course, Detective," Jody replies, ending the call and turning to Claire. "Do you mind if we make a quick detour?"

"Where to?" Claire asks. "Is Sam okay?" She adds a moment later, and Jody nods.

"Sam is fine," Jody says. "For now, at least, and I want to make sure that he stays that way." Darkside is already attracting the wrong kind of attention, and Jody knows that with a bum leg, Sam isn't going to be able to keep himself safe—either from the monsters who want him dead or from the police force who would just as quickly lock him a cell. Jody isn't stupid. She knows that if either Winchester brother ends up permanently in prison, especially following a highly publicized trial, they'll be sitting ducks, waiting for a demon to break in and kill them.

It's too late for Jody to keep Dean out of the system. But she can still help Sam.

"I want to stop by Donna's place." Jody continues. "There's something I need to talk to her about."

Jody knows that Sam is going to be dealing with a lot in the next few months, between the Demon, Dean's inevitable trial, and his status as America's Most Wanted. Sam has never been the type to ask for help—Jody figures that it's a Winchester family trait—but that doesn't mean that Jody isn't going to offer it.

Claire's duffel bag of necessities is a good start, but Jody has a much more important gift on her mind.

She can't cast a spell to keep Sam out of prison, but she can at least give him everything he needs to keep his head start. And that begins with the ability to run away.

Sam is going to need a new prosthetic sooner rather than later. And Jody plans to do everything in her power to get it to him.


	3. Step by Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is far from the poster child for healthy coping mechanisms. But he deals with grief the same way that everybody else does—one stage at a time. (EtDS 22/JD 1, 6-7)

**DENIAL**

The explosion echoes in Dean's ears, and he closes his eyes, bowing his head and pulling his hands up to his ears. His wrists are yanked to a stop a few inches away from his head, and the rattle of the handcuffs brings Dean back to reality, an unwelcome reminder of what followed the explosion that plays in his mind like a broken record—the sirens, the guns, the months spent in a prison cell.

Dean has spent four months cycling through endless armored vans, concrete cells, and interrogation rooms, each indistinguishable from the next—not that Dean has really been paying attention. For the first month, he sassed and backtalked every cop with the misfortune of interviewing him, but as the days dragged on Dean was faced with the uncomfortable reality that this isn't something he's going to escape.

Castiel hasn't responded to Dean's prayers since week one. Sam hasn't been seen since the day of the bombing.

The faceless FBI agents in crisp suits with shiny badges pinned to their lapels insist that Sam is dead, ask whether he died in the bombing or before it—whether Dean killed his brother or if he couldn't save him and decided to bomb a city as a result. At first, Dean didn't answer—the question was stupid, obviously, because Sam is clearly somewhere just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to break Dean out of prison.

With the amount of time it's taking him, the escape better be freaking  _spectacular_.

The world thinks that Sam is dead, but Dean knows it isn't true, and as the months fly by his protests stop being silent and start being vocal as he vehemently denies doing anything to harm the citizens of Lebanon—anything to harm his brother.

Sam hasn't tried to rescue Dean, but surely there's a reasonable explanation. And besides, Sam isn't nearly stupid enough to get himself blown up. If Dean could get out of the blast zone with time to spare, his long-legged, tall-ass little brother was probably halfway to South Dakota by the time the bomb went off.

Sam isn't dead, Dean repeats in his mind as the FBI tries their best to convince him otherwise, to guilt him into admitting to a terrorist attack that he would never dream of even plotting. Sam isn't dead.

Sam  _can't_ be dead.

* * *

**ANGER**

Dean's first night in solitary is earned after he breaks a tray in the cafeteria.

There's a little shitty box TV sitting high up on one of the walls, and all it ever plays is 24-hour news coverage of the depressing shit that's always going on in the world. The volume is turned so low that it's impossible to hear over the ruckus of a hundred criminals, but there are captions, and some days Dean finds himself reading them just to distract himself from his thoughts.

When he sees yet another report claiming that he killed his baby brother, left Sam buried in the rubble under what was once the town of Lebanon, Dean finally snaps—and promptly snaps a tray in half over his knee.

Dean spends that night staring at the wall, seething, occasionally beating up his pillow—he's not going to go through the trouble of busting his knuckles on his wall when he knows perfectly well that the prison hospital won't do shit to clean it up.

How  _dare_ they say that Sam is dead. How  _dare_ they insinuate that Dean could ever be the one to kill him.

How  _dare_ Sam die.

How  _dare_ the universe take him and leave Dean alive instead.

* * *

**BARGAINING**

When the news finally comes, it's such a big deal that the entire cafeteria falls silent—and it's for that reason only that Dean even hears it.

He hasn't looked at that stupid little box TV since he was sent to solitary over a month ago, but Dean has never heard the cafeteria this quiet before and so he turns his attention to the screen just in time to see his brother's old mugshot appear. It's a stupid-old picture, taken back when Sam and Dean got themselves arrested on purpose like ten years ago. Sam's got that petulant expression pasted on his face that he always wore back then—that he still wears, Dean thinks to himself with a smirk—and the shaggy hair that Dean always made fun of but secretly misses. It's a Sam who still has some innocence in his eyes, some sparkle, despite everything he had already gone through.

Dean really wishes that picture wasn't the one they used to say this.

The words roll across the screen, and the world slows down as Dean reads them one by one, analyzing each one like if he stares hard enough the subtitles will change their mind, retract their statement.

Sam Winchester is dead, the captions say. The remains of his right leg were found in Lebanon, and that can only mean that the rest of him didn't survive. Didn't even get to stay together.

No body was ever found, and one never will because there  _isn't_ one. Just a leg. Half of a leg.

Half of one of the legs that were supposed to carry him to safety.

The eyes in the room shift to Dean, but he ignores them all, standing and leaving the cafeteria without another word. The guard that follows him doesn't say anything, but he doesn't shove Dean into a wall for leaving when he isn't supposed to, either—nobody here likes Dean, but they've all heard him yelling at the wall, watched him break the noses of anyone who dares to suggest that Dean killed his baby brother.

Dean sits down on his bed and closes his eyes and prays with all of his might, prays for Castiel to bring Sam back, for any freaking angel in Heaven to please take Dean instead, take his soul, his heart, his whatever-they-damn-well-please if they'll only bring Sam back.

Sam is worth more than Dean will ever be, and the angels must know it isn't a fair trade because none of them bother to reply—and neither do the demons, when Dean resorts to screaming down at them instead, down into a puddle of blood streaming from a fresh, ragged cut on his palm.

No one replies before Dean screams himself hoarse, before the sun has gone down and the report has played through, before the FBI has made an official announcement that some pitying guard will tell Dean about tomorrow morning.

Dean doesn't need that official announcement to know. To try to trade his life away. To fail.

After Dean's pleas echo back unheard for the final time, he drops to his knees, slams his fists into the wall, and cries.

* * *

**DEPRESSION**

The trial passes by in a haze.

Dean's lawyer is a joke, fresh out of a law program he probably shouldn't have passed and just as convinced of Dean's guilt as everyone else in the courtroom—judge, jury, and executioner included.

There isn't a real executioner present, of course, but it sure feels that way when Dean sees the way the prosecutor looks at him like he personally ripped his little brother's leg off and tossed it into the rubble.

Everything is a reminder of Sam, from the angry prosecutor's constant remarks about Sam's death to the horrified jury who can't believe that anyone would kill their own brother to the useless public defender who is somehow worse at this whole law thing than Sam would be, a decade and a half after he last looked at a pre-law textbook. And every reminder hurts like a bitch, reminds Dean that his brother probably died alone, probably died scared.

Reminds Dean that he failed at the one thing he spent his whole life promising he would do.

Sam's safety has always been Dean's number one priority. And sure, Sam has died before, but Dean has always been able to get him back.

But now, shackled to a table, his prayers to angels and demons alike falling on deaf ears, there's nothing Dean can do to save his brother.

When the verdict is read out, Dean doesn't protest it. Doesn't fight the unfair judge, the biased jury. Because that verdict is right.

Dean is guilty. Maybe not of the Lebanon bombing, but of enough. Maybe not of killing those 53 people, but of failing to save them.

Failing to save  _Sam_.

A hundred lifetimes in prison isn't punishment enough for that.

* * *

**ACCEPTANCE**

The news comes in a week after Dean's sentencing—Sam Winchester has been arrested in Manhattan after being found unconscious and severely beaten in an alley.

The first thing Dean feels is denial. Sam can't be alive, not after all this time, not almost a year after he disappeared without a trace. Sam can't be alive and injured, one leg cut off at the thigh, extending further only thanks to the metal limb that extends from his broken body. Sam can't be alive and injured and  _okay_ , not after so much time has passed.

The second thing Dean feels is anger. Sam is alive, but he's been beaten, beaten badly, and no one but Dean seems to care. No questions are being raised about the circumstances that led to Sam being discovered in that alley, about the anonymous tip, about the beating. Sam was hurt severely enough to warrant a trip to the hospital rather than to the police station, and yet nobody wants to know what happened. Nobody but Dean.

The third thing Dean does is bargain. He calls the lawyer he's never spoken a word to before and asks if there's any way Sam can get out of a sentence, any way for him to avoid sitting through a trial with a biased jury and a useless public defender. Dean asks if maybe _he_ can take on Sam's charges, place more blame on himself—he's serving a life sentence but he'll serve another twenty if it means Sam doesn't have to suffer any more than he already has. Dean prays for the first time in months, asks an angel or a demon or freaking anybody to teleport into the hospital and get Sam out, make him disappear again—because Sam disappearing is okay, now that Dean knows he's alive.

The fourth thing Dean feels is depression. Sam is alive but he's hurt, and even though he lived through Lebanon he suffered greatly, had his leg torn from his body then spent the next year running, watching Dean go through hell and trying his best to avoid going through the same thing. Wary of everyone because he was being hunted like a monster. And all that time Dean had no idea. No way to help. All that time, Dean was trapped in a concrete cage,  _useless_ , while his baby brother fought for his life.

The last thing Dean feels is overwhelming relief. Sam is injured, captured by the police, waiting to stand trial, but he's  _alive_. He's alive, breathing, blinking, fighting every step of the way—and Dean didn't fight for a fair trial but he knows that Sam will. Sam will fight, because that's what Sam does. He never stops fighting.

Dean could never accept his brother's death. But this Sam he sees every day on the screen of the little box TV, alive if not well, Dean can accept this. He can deal with everything else later.

Sam is alive.

That's the only thing that Dean will ever accept.


	4. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers are enjoying breakfast when Daredevil appears in the lounge with an interesting plea—take Sam Winchester in. (JD 9-10)

Tony Stark will be the first one to say that there are far too many vigilantes in New York.

He tried to keep tabs on the big players at first—Spider-Man, Daredevil—but new vigilantes just kept arriving on the scene, and before long Tony decided it was probably in his best interest to just let the vigilantes handle their own affairs.

That isn't to say, of course, that Tony stopped tracking new faces in town. Considering the abundance of superpowered citizens these days—and the fact that, for some reason, most of them seem to prefer a life of crime over heroism or, better yet, just continuing on like normal—Tony can't risk letting new heroes take the stage without doing at least a little bit of recon. But for the most part, Tony leaves New York's vigilantes be. He mentors Spider-Man on the weekends, sure, but the adults are clearly capable of fending for themselves—the Defenders, in particular, are quite adept at handling even potentially catastrophic situations—and so after his initial research, Tony tends to leave well enough alone.

And then comes Darkside.

From the yellow-eyed vigilante's first appearance on the streets of Manhattan—or rather, his first phone conversation with a local 911 operator—it's clear that he's going to be an interesting vigilante. For a while, Darkside takes a page out of Daredevil's book, working primarily at night and avoiding cameras and cops alike. Tony does his usual recon and finds nothing—including a real name, although not for lack of trying—and then sets up a file for the nameless vigilante and leaves JARVIS to add information as he sees fit. At the time, Tony is much more worried about the Demon than the mysterious vigilante who clearly isn't doing anything wrong.

And then Darkside stops a potential hostage situation at a convention center, names himself to a reporter, and promptly vanishes right in front of the city's eyes before the cops can even think about arresting him.

Tony opens his Darkside file that night to take another look and New York's newest vigilante.

He hasn't closed it since.

Now, months later—after assisting Darkside in capturing the Demon and watching him grow from a camera-shy man in a black scarf to a powerful vigilante with piercing yellow eyes and a leather jacket that may or may not be bulletproof—Tony's file is still growing, every win for the vigilante affectionately referred to as 'the Hero of Manhattan' by the city's populous added automatically to what is quickly becoming a frankly massive collection of mostly useless data.

It isn't often that the mysterious Darkside isn't on Tony's mind these days, but on the morning of October 5, 2018, Darkside is far from the most critical thing that Tony is thinking about.

Tony's day started early—and by that, he means that he never actually went to sleep—and he spent most of the morning fielding calls from Pepper, Happy, and the government about various Stark Industries projects, his schedule for the day, and Sam Winchester, respectively. It's that last point on the agenda that has Tony distracted as he strides into the communal lounge and fixes his morning cup of joe.

Today is the first anniversary of the devastating Winchester bombing, and in the early hours of this morning, Sam Winchester was apparently nearly killed over it. Tony doesn't have an ounce of sympathy for Sam Winchester—or for anyone else who thinks it's okay to kill over 50 people and flatten a small Midwestern town, for that matter—but he's been paying particular attention to the incident due to the fact that Sam identified his attacker as the Judge, a new potential villain character who only recently made his presence known in New York and has already killed two gang members and a dirty cop.

"Long night?" Cap asks as Tony heads for the table, downing half of his coffee in one go. Tony simply shrugs in response, sitting down hard enough to rattle the chair at Cap's left and pulling out his StarkPhone to read through an email Pepper just sent him about funding for the R&D department.

"I don't know about you guys, but I could go for some pancakes." Barton walks into the lounge with a few new bandages on his face and announces his presence in the only way he knows how—by proclaiming his love for food and asking someone else to cook it. Barton heads for the table and takes the seat that Cap has just vacated, and Tony smirks when Cap heads into the kitchen and turns on the stove.

"Stark, you see the situation at the prison?" Romanoff is the next to enter, nodding to Cap as she passes the kitchen and sits down on Barton's other side.

"It's hard to miss. All over the news." Bruce replies before Tony has the chance, following Romanoff into the lounge but peeling off toward the kitchen, where he grabs two mugs and starts pouring coffee.

"Sam Winchester attacked in NYPD lockup on the anniversary of the Winchester bombing," Barton says, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms behind his head. "That kind of irony is just asking to be on the front page." Bruce carries his two coffees over to the table and passes one to Tony just as Tony finishes off his first. Tony smiles gratefully and starts on the fresh mug, and Romanoff just shakes her head, smiling.

"Drink too much of that, and you're going to start vibrating." She says, glancing at Bruce when he sits down across from her.

"Joke's on you, Red. I already am." Tony replies, holding up one shaky hand to prove his point—this is far from his second cup of coffee today, or even in the past hour.

" _INTRUDER ALERT_ ," JARVIS says suddenly, and the four Avengers at the table jump to their feet only to watch as the private door opens and Daredevil strides meaningfully into the room.

"Can you please call off your robot?" Daredevil asks, stopping a few feet away from the table and cocking his head to one side in a move that looks decidedly asshole-ish. "I would have called, but I don't exactly have any of your phone numbers."

"Next time, try Google," Tony suggests, shaking his head. "JARVIS, we're good."

"I assumed as much," JARVIS replies shortly—Tony knows perfectly well that JARVIS can't speak with emotion, but he can hear the annoyance in his AI's tone nonetheless.

"So, Horns, what brings you to our fine tower at this annoyingly early hour?" Tony asks, slipping his phone into his pocket. He grabs his coffee and takes another sip as Daredevil pauses, apparently needing time to think about why he broke in.

Tony's next question is initially going to be about  _how_ Daredevil got into Avengers Tower in the first place, but that train of thought is entirely derailed by Daredevil's answer.

"You need to take Sam Winchester in." Daredevil says, and the entire room falls silent.

"Excuse me?" Tony asks, setting down his coffee. Footsteps behind him have Tony turning his head to see that Cap has abandoned breakfast in favor of what has quickly become the most interesting development of the day—and considering the morning's previous events,  that's quite an achievement.

"Take Sam Winchester in." Daredevil repeats. "Let him live here, at Avengers Tower, until his trial is over."

"Why exactly would we do that?" Cap asks. "Sam Winchester is a mass murderer."

"Sam Winchester is innocent." Daredevil says. "The Winchester brothers are not responsible for the bombing of Lebanon, Kansas, nor are they responsible for pretty much anything that they've been accused of in the past decade and a half. But even putting that aside, you should help him because it could save his life."

"Why Avengers Tower?" Romanoff asks.

"The Judge broke into an NYPD precinct last night and tried to strangle Sam in his sleep." Daredevil says. "The only reason Sam is alive right now is that the night guard came in to check on him and saw what was happening. Sam confirmed at the hospital that the Judge threatened him. Said that he was going to be back to finish the job." Daredevil nods to the spot in the ceiling where JARVIS's speaker resides. "This tower is the most secure building in New York. If Sam is kept at the precinct or in prison during his trial,  the Judge will kill him before a verdict is reached."

"And there will be one less mass murderer to worry about," Barton says passively—and while Tony does think that everyone deserves a trial, under the circumstances, he's inclined to agree with Barton.

"Sam Winchester is  _innocent_." Daredevil says, clearly growing irritated.

"Unless you were in Lebanon when that bomb went off, there really isn't any reason we should believe you." Bruce points out.

"Sam Winchester should certainly have the chance to stand trial, but we can't reasonably allow him to live here," Cap says. "The tower has accommodations that are far better than those of a prison or a holding cell, and while they're far more secure as well, the tradeoff is too steep. We can't in good conscience offer Sam Winchester residence, especially when we have no idea how long the trial will last."

"Sam is innocent." Daredevil says again, pausing and looking down at the floor as he considers something. When he looks back up, the red eyes of his mask—Tony sometimes wonders how Daredevil can even see in that think—are pointed directly at Tony. "If you won't shelter Sam, will you shelter Darkside?"

"Darkside?" Bruce repeats.

"What does Darkside have to do with anything?" Barton asks.

"Darkside is homeless." Daredevil says. "I found him in mid-February huddled in an alleyway, beaten half to death and terrified of everyone and everything around him. Less than a day later, he was stabbed by a drunk man who was trying to rape a young woman in that same alley, a crime that Darkside stopped without hesitation. He nearly died that night, would have if I hadn't stepped in to help. And then he asked me to help him, because on that cold February night when we met, he escaped from the man who had kidnapped him, tortured him, experimented on him for months and forced the abilities characteristic of Darkside on him."

"That's..." Tony trails off, his heart aching for the yellow-eyed vigilante. Tony suspected that Darkside didn't have a permanent place of residence—or at least, one within the city—and he's well aware that most superhero origin stories aren't pretty. But to hear the story for the first time... it's another level of pain entirely.

"Darkside fought demons in his own mind just as much as the Demon himself." Daredevil says. "He came to Manhattan with no money, no friends, nothing but the clothes on his back, and he managed to become a hero, to hone the abilities that were forced upon him and use them to stop a criminal mastermind. And when I offered him a place to stay, he refused, because he didn't think he had earned it. To this day, he sleeps on the rooftops and in the alleyways of Manhattan."

"Darkside, we can house," Tony says. "In an instant, if he asks. But you can't possibly be comparing a vigilante who saved New York to a man who wiped a city off of the map."

"Sam Winchester is innocent." Daredevil says, smirking. "Sam Winchester is also Darkside." For the second time, the Avengers are stunned into silence by Daredevil's words. "You found out when Darkside and I came here for dinner last week that Darkside has a prosthetic leg." Daredevil continues. "That's because his right leg was torn from his body in the Lebanon bombing. Sam wasn't responsible for the bombing, but he was in Lebanon, and he was severely injured when that bomb went off. He wasn't found in the rubble because he was kidnapped by whoever really did set that bomb, and he was tortured for four months, and during that time he was given the abilities that made him Darkside. And when he managed to escape and wound up stranded in Manhattan with his brother imprisoned and almost no memory of the events that landed him there, the first thing he did was become a hero."

"You've known Sam Winchester was Darkside for a long time, I assume," Cap says, and Daredevil nods without hesitation.

"The man I met in that alley in February was not Darkside. Darkside wasn't even a thought at the time." Daredevil says. "The scared man I met was Sam Winchester, and Sam Winchester was the man whose life I saved. And I could have called the police, could have turned him in, but I didn't, because he wasn't a killer. He was a broken man, missing one leg, running from shadows, and saving people. Risking his life, his freedom, to protect a young woman he had never met." Daredevil smiles. "I'm not asking you to protect Sam Winchester, the man who you believe killed 52 people in Lebanon, Kansas, a year ago today. I'm asking you to protect Sam, the broken man who found himself alone in a scary world and made it his job to protect it."

Before any of the Avengers can reply, Daredevil turns and disappears through the private door, exiting the tower just as quickly as he came. The Avengers are silent for a few minutes beyond Daredevil's departure, mulling over his words.

Tony can't even begin to make a decision about this. It's going to take him several hours and a few pots of coffee to sort through what he knows about Darkside and what he knows about Sam Winchester, and he doubts that he'll ever be able to totally reconcile the two. But Daredevil made a good point. The Avengers would house Darkside without hesitation, so if Sam Winchester  _is_ Darkside, shouldn't they house him?

"Take him in." Barnes—who has likely been leaning against the wall near the elevator for a while now, but who Tony has only just noticed—speaks up, drawing the eyes of the Avengers to him. "Whether or not he's actually innocent.  _Especially_ if he's not innocent."

"Why?" Cap asks, and Barnes pushes off of the wall and walks over to the group.

"Sam Winchester is Darkside," Barnes says, crossing his arms. "What he did in the past doesn't matter. Well,  _shouldn't_ matter."

"He killed over fifty people." Bruce protests, and Barnes raises an eyebrow.

"So?" He asks. "So did Natasha. So did Barton. So did I." Barnes turns his attention to Cap, who frowns. "Half of the people in this room right now were bad people before we were good ones. We killed people long before we saved them. And none of you hesitated to let us in." Barnes pauses. "Well, maybe for a minute, sure. And I know most of you still ain't quite sure about me, but I'm here. Not in handcuffs, not in prison. I'm here in this tower because you believed that I could change for the better. So why can't Sam?"

"I'm with Barnes," Romanoff says, and Barton quickly nods.

"I don't know..." Bruce says hesitantly.

"No way." Cap shakes his head firmly. "He's a killer, Buck. He wasn't brainwashed, wasn't forced into it like the three of you were. He killed of his own volition."

"And then he decided to fight crime instead." Barton points out. "That alone should make him worth taking a chance on."

"That, or the fact that Daredevil said he won't live through his trial if we don't help him," Romanoff says, staring Cap and Tony down. "You're supposed to be the heroes, remember? That means that you save  _everyone_. Not just the good guys."

"We can't just house a serial killer while he's on trial for terrorism." Tony protests.

"52 counts of first-degree murder, actually." Bruce corrects. "No charges of terrorism were brought against Sam."

"Oh, so he's  _Sam_ now?" Tony questions, irritated. These people cannot seriously be considering letting a killer into  _his_ tower.

And yet, Sam Winchester is clearly not just a killer.

"If you won't help Sam, help Darkside," Barnes suggests.

"Should we trust Darkside? I mean, we've only met him once." Cap says doubtfully, and Barton grins.

"Well, some of us have." He says, turning his attention to Tony. "You know Darkside better than any of us,  _Andrew_. What do  _you_ think?"

"I think..." Tony trails off, shaking his head. He needs to stop thinking about what he thinks he knows about Sam Winchester and start thinking about what he knows about Darkside. The vigilante who looked for crimes to stop in a chatroom full of hackers. The vigilante who challenged the Demon and won.

The vigilante who trusted a man on the Internet to help him stop a villain without once thinking about the consequences. The vigilante who put the needs of the city over his own.

Tony doesn't think that Sam Winchester deserves the Avengers' help. But Daredevil was right. Tony would help Darkside in an instant.

"I think we should do it." Tony decides, much to Cap's disbelief. "If only to keep him alive long enough for the courts to determine his guilt." Without another word—it's Tony's tower, so technically his decision would be final even if it hadn't been in line with the majority—Tony turns away, pulling his phone out of his pocket and redialing the number of the last FBI agent who called him.

Sam Winchester doesn't deserve a helping hand from the Avengers. But he does deserve a trial.

And Darkside deserves the chance to explain himself.


	5. Blissful Ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Winchester has been changing the Avengers' views since the first time he walked into the communal lounge as Darkside. But learning the truth about Sam's monster-filled past forces the Avengers to rethink everything they know about the world—and confront some hard truths about their own lives. (JD 31)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate two years since I posted the first chapter of Escaping the Dark Side (I can't believe it's been two years), here's a new fallen tree I've been working on for a while that's been requested a few times—and rightfully so.
> 
> I hope I did justice to the four Avengers featured in this chapter. Thanks for reading!

His entire life, Steve has believed in angels.

Even through the most challenging parts of his life—through pain, death, and Nazis—Steve believed in a higher power, watching over him, over the world. And he always believed that it was good. It was that belief that carried Steve through the deaths of his closest friends, through the camps that showcased the worst that humanity had to offer. That belief was the last thing Steve clung to as he faced the endless expanse of the Arctic.

Sam barely mentioned angels, only confirmed their existence in passing, just one name on an expansive list of supernatural creatures. He didn't mention a God at all, but he did mention demons, and the presence of that dichotomy worries Steve.

After he sits Bucky down on the couch in their private lounge and tells him what Sam revealed, Steve escapes to his studio, pulling out a pencil and staring blankly at an empty page as he thinks about what he's believed his entire life and tries to reconcile it with what he learned tonight.

The existence of angels implies the existence of a God, but the existence of demons implies the existence of a Devil. And together they imply an afterlife, a Heaven and a Hell. A final judgement and a set of pearly gates.

Steve isn't sure whether or not he's comforted by knowing what comes next.

The pencil begins to move across the page as Steve draws absentmindedly, channeling his worries into his art. He doesn't pay much attention to what he draws, his mind still on the monsters that Sam revealed to him—the angels and the demons. And as hard as he tries, Steve can't escape. He sees Heaven in the way his pencil dances, creating strands of hair that disappear into the light. He sees Hell in the graphite that leaves a trail behind on the paper, sharp creases, dark and foreboding. Steve finds angels in the lining of an upper lip and demons in the curve of a chin, God in the light that shines in the pupils and the Devil in the shadows beneath the ears.

When Steve sets his pencil down, he finds Sam's face staring back at him, smiling, laughing. Happy.

It's a Sam Steve seldom sees, and tonight he thinks he finally knows why.

Steve spent his life believing in the bright half of the next life while marching through the dark half of his own. He took the part of the future he wanted and threw away the rest. He saw the good in the world until the world tore it brutally away.

It took Steve a long time to find that light again after he woke up. But he's found it in the Avengers, in the unexpected places. In the blasters Stark fires at his enemies, and the glint of the sunlight off his suit. In the daggers Natasha wields with deadly precision, and the electricity that flows from her Widow's Bites. In the metal heads of Clint's arrows, and the metal coating on his hearing aid. In the steel the Hulk tears from buildings, and the reflection of fluorescent lights on Bruce's glasses. In the shining metal of Bucky's metal arm, and the little bit of hope that still shines in his eyes.

Steve detailed every feature of Sam's face, down to the creases at the corners of his eyes when he laughs. Every feature but one.

Sam's eyes in the image are blank, white, an empty sea punctuated by two floating pupils—it's what Sam said that he sees every time he looks into a mirror.

Steve hesitates, then reaches for his rarely-used colored pencils, searching through them until he finds one in the right shade of yellow.

Steve sees the light in the gold amulet that Sam wears around his neck, the one that seems to shine sometimes even when there's no light source around. Steve sees the light in the way Sam's yellow eyes glow, not only when he's angry but when he's sad, or stressed, or happy.

Sam sees a dangerous world that no one else even knows exists, and he bared his soul to the Avengers to warn them about it. Sam seldom smiles, seldom laughs, because he sacrificed his light to protect the world against a threat that only he can see.

The least Steve can do in return is help Sam see himself. And maybe, just maybe, Steve can help Sam rediscover that light. 

* * *

Tony doesn't remember believing in the supernatural, but if he ever did, he stopped after his parents' death.

Tony spent his life surrounded by facts, testable hypotheses and evidence-supported theories. There was no room in his scientifically-sound world for make-believe and superstition, for fairy tales or religion. Tony pushed aside the idea of the afterlife just as quickly as he did Santa Claus and the tooth fairy. It was something impossible, unattainable, a feel-good story that could only possibly fool children.

And yet, Tony doesn't question Sam's revelations. Not because they're entirely believable but because Sam made a claim about something outlandish and then he backed it up. Tony didn't believe in aliens until Loki nearly destroyed New York City. He didn't believe in superheroes until he became one himself. He didn't believe in Captain America until Steve Rogers showed up in the 21st century and started fighting aliens like he'd been doing it every day of his life.

This time around, the evidence is even more obvious. It's staring Tony in the face. Sam's entire skill set mirrors that of a demon to a tee, or at least, how Sam described them—and the Demon fits that description as well. And Tony saw that vampire's fangs with his own two eyes.

Tony can deny the existence of monsters until he's blue in the face, just like he used to as a kid. But that won't change the fact that Sam had the proof. And Tony figures that there's probably a lot more of it, now that he knows to look.

After he explains what he learned to Bruce, Tony heads to his lab, telling Butterfingers to start a pot of coffee and turning on his computer.

Tony's entire worldview has just been thrown out the window. It's like an earthquake has shifted the ground beneath his feet, sending everything he thought he knew flying off the shelves and into a pile on the floor, and then an atomic bomb was dropped on the mess and turned it all to dust. Tony likes facts. He likes organization. He sincerely doubts that he'll be able to put everything back into neat little boxes after this particular bombshell, but if he even wants to try, he's going to have to start studying now.

And that means doing research on everything that Sam said. Looking into every monster he mentioned, either explicitly or in passing, tonight or any night since he first showed up in Manhattan. Tony is going to have to read every book on angels and demons, watch every stupid YouTube video about ghost hunters and vampires. He needs to figure out what's going on in a world that stopped making sense a long time ago and somehow just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Tony is going to have to be ready for anything, and if that means foregoing sleep for the next year and a half, then so be it. Tony can't protect the world against a threat he knows nothing about, so he's going to have to learn everything about it.

Come morning, Tony has two and a half pages of detailed questions to ask Sam. And he's no more ready to face a world that he's never seen before—a world he could never have prepared for. 

* * *

Natasha knows better than anyone that there are real monsters out there. She just always assumed that they were all human.

She doesn't doubt that Sam was telling the truth—Natasha trusts her instincts, and more than that, she trusts Sam. Trusts that he wouldn't lie to the Avengers, wouldn't lead them on, wouldn't spin a tale to hurt them. When Natasha looks at most people, she sees their lives laid out before her like a picture book, clear as day, easy to read. Sam's pages have always been more challenging—some with ink spilled over them, obscuring the text and the photographs, and others written in another language entirely, one Natasha has never seen before and couldn't begin to know how to read.

Now, some of that ink is being cleaned off. Some of that text is being translated. But even without the help, Natasha knows that Sam is telling the truth.

Even when she couldn't be sure of anything else, she could be sure of that.

And what's more concerning to Natasha is that some of what Sam described is actually familiar to her. Some of the monsters—the vampires, the demons—sound like people Natasha has fought in the past, individual case studies in her long history of murder and espionage that she thought of as one-offs until today.

Natasha remembers a man in Peru with teeth that glinted in the moonlight, eyes that shone, claws that raked down her leg as he roared. She remembers emptying her clip into his torso and him not even breaking a stride. She remembers the silver dagger she put between his ribs and the way he collapsed on it. Natasha remembers the otherworldly howl that escaped his lips as he died, and she wonders if that day, she fought a werewolf.

Natasha remembers the cold breeze that followed her into an abandoned building in Romania, the puff of breath that she could suddenly see in the middle of July, with the sun high in the sky. She remembers the door slamming closed, the floorboards creaking, the way that the entire building seemed to be alive. Natasha remembers the pale, barely-there face of a young boy twisted into something evil as it rushed at her, and she wonders if that day, she met a ghost.

Natasha remembers the woman in Kenya who fought like nothing Natasha had ever seen before, like she had been honing her skills since the beginning of time. She remembers using every weapon she had, every bullet, every knife, and the woman never flinching, never even stopping to take a breath. She remembers taking the woman's own blade and turning it on her, lighting up her stomach and then her eyes as she slouched to the ground. Natasha remembers the ashes that spread from her body like wings, and she wonders if that day, she killed an angel.

Sam said that there were angels and demons, and that implies a Heaven and a Hell. Natasha always drew comfort from the hope that nothing was waiting for her after death. That there would be no judgement for her sins. Today, she knows better. Today, she knows that some of the people she killed were eviler than she could have ever imagined, but others were good.

When she looks down at her hands, Natasha can picture the blood that stains them, and she knows exactly where she's destined to go after she takes her final breath. 

* * *

Clint doesn't doubt that there are monsters. He's too busy freaking out about them.

Clint lives in a world that barely makes sense at the best of times. He had just finished wrapping his head around the idea of superpowers when Thor came crashing down to Earth, and now that he's finally gotten used to aliens, Sam goes and drops another bombshell.

Monsters. Fairy tale monsters like vampires and werewolves, running around the United States. And crazy people like Sam Winchester seeking them out, armed with nothing but a machete and a lot of confidence, like a storm chaser who decided tornadoes weren't deadly enough for him. It's insane.

It's terrifying.

Clint doesn't really care about Heaven and Hell, or where he'll end up when the day comes. He doesn't care about how vampires are created, or werewolves, or angels, or demons. He cares about the fact that there's a new threat he has to deal with, one he's woefully unprepared for. He cares about the fact that this threat isn't even new, not really. These monsters have been on this planet much longer than Clint has, hiding in the shadows.

All Clint can think about is the hundreds, thousands, millions of innocent people who have been and will be killed by creatures Clint never knew existed. About rogue werewolves and vampire nests and whatever the hell else is out there, all the other monsters Sam didn't even mention. The fairies and the dragons and the gremlins and hell, probably even Nessie—at this point, Clint wouldn't be surprised to find out that Santa Claus really does live at the North Pole with a bunch of flying reindeer.

Clint has heard endless stories from all over the globe of monsters. Urban legends and fairy tales and myths and folk stories about creatures that steal children from their homes and trap young women and strip the flesh from people's bones. If a few monsters are real, why not all of them? How does Clint know that the Babadook isn't roaming the US, that some possessed doll isn't lying in wait for its next victim?

The idea of monsters running around is horrifying. Not because Clint doesn't think he can handle them, but because he's worried he might not be there to do it. All Clint can think about is the family he left in the middle of nowhere in a house he's really hoping isn't haunted.

Come morning, he's going to ask Sam about that warding that Stark mentioned to keep demons out. And he's going to pray that there's something similar that will keep the rest of the monsters out, too.

Well, maybe not pray. Sam didn't seem to be too fond of angels when he mentioned them in passing.

God, how the hell is Clint supposed to deal with this?

How are any of the Avengers?

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any scenes you'd like to see that weren't in the original stories (specifically because Sam wasn't around to see them—I'll likely post a Sam-inclusive one-shot book at some point), leave a comment and let me know—I might write the missing scene and post it here!


End file.
